Return to me : Greatest hits
by Rivergirls Anthem
Summary: Episode 4x15 spoilerish. Westmoreland guides Michael through his life and his relationships with the people who matter most. "It all came down to one thing : he needed to go back." Centers on MiSa, Michael/Sucre friendship and Michael/Lincoln: brothers.


**A/N : Hey guys! So, I just finished watching episode 4x14 (did anyone was as scared as I was?) and then saw some spoilers/promos for episode 15, including the part where Westmoreland suddenly shows up next to Michael, in his vision when he's having brainsurgery. A whole story was beginning to develop in my mind - so I wrote it down. It deals with Michael's relationships with Sara (duh..MiSa as I am), Sucre (BFFs!) and Lincoln (big brother, what else is there to say?) and how they all need him to return to them, and how he needs to return to them in return.**

**Anyway, I hope you enjoy. Please review? It would mean the world to me.**

**XO, as always**

* * *

He felt disoriented. Through half-opened eyes he could see shadows moving throughout the room, but he didn't know who they were and what they wanted from him. His head hurt. A sharp pain cut his mind in two, like a needle had been pierced through his skin to come out on the other side.

His heartbeat was pounding like a steady drum against his chest and he was glad to feel that signal of being alive. As long as he could, he would be alright. No matter what happened next.

The drum faded and he knew he should feel afraid, but he let himself slip away into the ease it brought. In the distance he heard the swinging of a door, and running.

--

It was cold in here. He shivered involuntarily, a sentiment caused not only by the chill in the air, but also by the sight of this particular scene. The metal bars looked the same as they had back then, and he didn't…didn't want to be here again. Anywhere but here.

Standing in the very same place where a man had died in his arms during that first uprising, he could almost feel the bolt in his hands. The one he had extracted from the bleechers, and lost to the dying man.

"Brings back memories, doesn't it?" a familiar voice called out.

Michael spun around, startled. Charles Westmoreland looked exactly the same as he had back then, a kind expression on his face, his tread slow and easy, and a wrinkled skin to prove his age. But there was something else about him – a glow that came only of being free, an absolute and uncompromised freedom that only death could bring.

"Michael, before you start asking question neither of us will be able to answer, let me give you some that I can." His eyes looked at the younger man in a way that he knew was supposed to be comforting, but it did nothing to ease the shivers.

"_Are you dead?_ No, you're not. _Am I dead?_ Undoubtably." A small smile appeared on his face. "You were the last to see me alive, along with those other escapees – the guards found me slumped lifeless against the infirmary cabinets." He broke out in a grin before continuing. "_Am I DB Cooper?_ Yes, Michael. I am DB."

"_Am I real?_ Now, that is a question I can not answer. So let's not try to. All you need to know is that I am here to help you. _Help you do what, exactly?_ You'll have to figure that out for yourself."

"It's so quiet in here." It was the first thing he had been able to say ever since he had fallen down onto the ground near the Fauntleroy hotel, his voice not sounding as he had feared – broken and hoarse – but a soft whisper.

Charles smiled. "That might be because the place is near deserted. Nothing like when we were doing time. Few people still hang around this place in our vision. You'll understand why."

A ray of sunshine entered the structure, landing just beside their immobile feet. "It is time." Charles started towards the staircase and Michael followed not far behind, knowing that he was supposed to. He wouldn't deny the fact that it all scared him, but until it ended, there was nothing he could do. No way to escape this alternative reality, but to complete it.

-

They halted in front of a worn out cell, the number 40 painted in a fading black above the bars, onto the concrete ceiling. He peered inside, trying to make something out of the darkness that had been clogging up the insides of the space when they had arrived, knowing who he would find when the smoke cleared.

Sucre.

Michael walked inside the cell, leaning against the wall and looking up at his friend, sitting on the top bunk, touching his mother's cross to his lips, moving in silent prayer. Behind him, near his pillow, the picture of Maricruz was taped against the side, and his pj's were thrown carelessly on the bed.

The puerto rican didn't open his eyes nor made any attempt to acknowledge Michael's presence, until Michael himself moved near the bed and placed his arms next to Sucre on the bed, looking up at him expectantly.

"I'm glad you're here, Papi." He murmured with closed eyes, before opening them in a hurried apology. "NOT that I want you here permanently, because neither of us know what's next and I just want you to come back to us. I just meant I'm glad that if you're here, I'm here too, is all." He sighed. "Ay, I don't know what I'm saying. Just come back, Mike. We need you."

The prayer started up again and Michael made move to leave, his feet going out of their own accord. A smile appeared on his face when he heard the last words Sucre said to him. "I'm not praying for me, you know?"

Michael turned around and looked straight back. "I know, buddy."

-

"Sucre was… different before you came to Fox River, Michael." Westmoreland said when they exited Gen Pop. "Sure, he's an all-round likeable guy, but I had a feeling he never really connected with anyone until you got here. You got to know him better than anyone else before you." He smiled. "Just as well as his lady Maricruz, I reckon."

Michael nodded. If Sucre hadn't been here, he didn't know what he'd have done either. Sucre was the one he could always turn to, whether the issues concerned the plan or completely different things. Sucre was a friend like Michael had never had before.

He had always detached himself from people, not really trusting or wanting to trust anyone else. Before Sucre, he was afraid of getting too close, afraid of the moment when people would leave. Apart from that, there wasn't anyone like his cellmate, either. Sucre was someone he could laugh with, talk serious to and fool around with. When around him, Michael felt as if they were two kids playing in kindergarten, playing cop and robber or some other silly game. He smiled.

Fernando Sucre was his buddy, and he needed him back.

--

The next hallway they came to was one he had never been to before, but he knew exactly where they were. It was the line that covered the space between his right wrist and his elbow : death row. Their footsteps echoed in the emptiness and the sound was similar to that of a round of gunshots being fired. Michael felt an uneasy feeling brew inside his body.

Lincoln.

"This is why it all started, Michael. You did what you did because your brother ended up here, in this hallway, for a crime he really didn't commit. Lincoln is why you came here and broke us out. Or at least… attempted to."

Michael crouched down to the little hatch and opened it, the sound creaking throughout the hallway. His big brother sat on his bed, his hand raised to his eyes, clutching a bundel of papers and seemingly memorizing the continents.

"Linc."

The papers fell to the floor and his brother crawled over to where he was, his eyes showing disbelief, but most of all concern. "Michael." His low rumble stated his name in warning. "You shouldn't be here. It's too dangerous."

A tear threatened to roll down Michael's cheek. "I'll be alright, Linc."

"You better be." Lincoln extended his hand through the small opening to grip Michael's. "I'm not going to lose you, Michael. Not after all we've been through." He sighed. "I just wish you weren't so damn stubborn sometimes."

"I haven't _always_ been like this, though."

"Yes you have." Lincoln laughed. "I remember when you used to want cookies for breakfast. You'd whine and whine and eventually ended up climbing the cabinets just to get them for yourself. You've _always_ been like this, Michael. But now, it's different. You're going to get yourself killed, Michael." He took a sharp intake of breath. "And I wouldn't be able to deal with that. So just… Please."

Michael nodded, finally accepting what his brother had been saying all along. He was going to get himself killed, had probably been doing it for some time now and he should be able to stop, he knew he was supposed to. But he couldn't bare to just sit back and let the Company get away with what they had done. He wouldn't.

"Your brother is right, Michael." Charles told him as Lincoln slowly faded nearby. "You're not taking care of yourself, and it's hurting people. Knowing you, that's the last thing you want to be doing, but you _are,_ Michael. So stop."

"I just.." He didn't know what he was going to say, so he fell silent.

Westmoreland nodded. "I know. Now let's move on. This person you're going to want to see."

--

The infirmary doors swung open to welcome them, the soft swoosh not even stirring the air. Westmoreland gently nudged him forward with his hand touching Michael's elbow, and he moved closer. Closer to the window that granted him a vision of her sitting in the doctor's office, studying a patient's file. She raised her eyes to his and gave him a feeble smile, showing him with a wave of her hand into the exam room where they had spent so many hours together.

"Michael…" she entered the room gracefully, her white doctor's coat flying around her as she walked towards him and sat down on the stool next to the chaise where he had taken place. "How are you feeling today?"

"Uh..to be honest, I'm not quite sure." He told her, a little laugh following his statement. " I don't…exactly know where I am and what's going on, so…"

"You might be dying." She completed his statement, her eyes cast downwards while she opened her folder. When she raised them again, he saw the forming tears in her eyes and gently took a hold of the stool's sides, pulling her closer towards him before taking her into his arms.

"And leave you?" he whispered against her hair, "Never." His hand trailed up and down her soft auburn strands, tucking on neatly behind her ear.

She huffed a breath. "Don't say things like that, Michael. Don't make me promises you can't keep." Looking up at him she wiped at her tears. "You said so yourself. You _don't know_ what's happening. You weren't there when your heart failed, you didn't see the line flatten in front of your eyes, you didn't.. you didn't…" She let out a huge sob before trying in vain to calm herself down.

"What am I supposed to do without you?" she asked him in earnest. "What am I supposed to do, Michael? You can't leave me." Her fist pounded against his chest. "You _can't_ leave me!"

He grabbed her fist and raised it to his lips. "I'm not going to."

Lowering his face to hers, he caught her lips in a sweet kiss, letting her know exactly how he felt about her. "I love you, Sara."

"I love you too, Michael. I need you. Come back to me." She whispered against his cheek, before fading into nothing.

--

"She loves you more than anything, Michael. You're the reason for everything she does these days, you have been ever since you set foot in the infirmary. She tried to deny it, but even as you kept on lying to her, she couldn't do it anymore. She let you into her heart, and she hasn't regretted it once. Not even when she overdosed on morphine…"

The statement cut into him. The overdose kept on haunting him, every day. Knowing that he had almost lost her then, hearing it from Brad Bellick, who he still despised at that time… Hearing the anger in her voice. He wouldn't never forget.

"Was it because of me?"

"Partly, yes. She was angry with herself for falling for you. Angry…not regretting it. She felt used by you, even though a part of her knew you didn't want it to end this way. Sara was hurting that night, Michael. She was hurting." He nodded. "But she has never stopped wanting to be with you."

Michael stood by the window where they had escaped from, staring at the huge wall that had kept him prisoner for so long. He didn't regret winding up here – it had brought him as much happiness as it had hurt. _Sara, Lincoln and Sucre_… none of them would be in his life now if he hadn't done what he had.

"I think it's time to go." Westmoreland said. "You've seen enough."

--

They walked the path of sand leading towards the large gate and when they did, Michael could see ghosts of other men running towards the fences of the yard, clutching the wiring tightly. First Abruzzi appeared, followed by Tweener, Haywire and C-note. Finally Sucre came to the fence, Lincoln standing next to him.

They all watched him leave, walking through the open gates and into supposed freedom. He turned around one final time and could just distinguish Sara's silhouette behind the glass window of the infirmary, before the gates closed on him.

"Let's go back to the present, shall we?"

"We can?" He sounded happy, he realised. When he had been inside the stoney building, his voice had sounded soft and somewhat pained, but the prospect of being alive and surrounded by those who mattered most sounded better than anything he could have ever imagined.

His happiness was short lasted. "I'm sorry Michael," Westmoreland sounded apologetic. "I only get to show you what's happening right now, I can't decide what happens to you when I leave."

Michael nodded. He should have expected this, yet it was hard to swallow. Getting to see how the world was turning without him without the definite knowledge of his return, was hard. It was going to be difficult, but he had to follow. He just _had _to.

--

"Where are we?"

"Ah." Westmoreland smiled. "Another question I _can_ answer. We are in the basement of the Company's headquarters, where we'll find you chained to all sorts of machines."

"How did I get here?"

"When you escaped with Scylla, Don Self followed you and found you lying bleeding on the ground. He was being chased by the Company, and they found you, taking you with them."

Michael sighed. "So we _don't_ have Scylla?"

Westmoreland answered him as clearly as he could. "But then, neither has the Company. Which is why they are going to offer your brother to trade you against Scylla. He's going to have to retrieve Scylla and return it to the Company and in the meantime they are going to try and make sure you are going to be okay."

"Return it to the Company…" Michael shook his head. "The very people we took it from. I'd rather they just…"

"Let you die?" Westmoreland smiled. "After what we've just seen, do you really think they would do that? If you haven't seen enough… you'll get to see, and hear, a lot more."

They walked through the ill-lit hallways to a chamber where he was lying, hooked on a machine, electrodes plastered on his skin. It felt strange to see himself like that.

He hesitantly walked over to his own bedside and sat down on the edge of the bed. It was only then that he heard her voice throughout the room.

"_Wake up, wake up, wake up. Come on, Michael, I know you can. Just wake up – don't do this. Please don't leave me."_

Sara sat next to him, as if she had appeared out of thin air and she clutched his limp hand, cradling it to her chest, her eyes closed, her mouth immobile.

"How is it that I can hear her?"

"What you're hearing are her thoughts. She's been like this ever since they let her see you. She's never left your side."

"Can she see me?"

"No."

He walked over to her and rested his face on her shoulder, angling it so it leaned against her own. Her shoulders shook and for the first time he could see her whole face. He could see the tears streaming down her cheeks, the spats that had falled upon his hand.

He twisted his own hand in the air and smiled in wonder, noticing that the same tearmarks that had appeared on other-Michael's hand could be found on his own.

"_I wonder if this place has Morphine. It has to, right? For God's sake, Sara, it's the Company, of course they have Morphine. If he doesn't wake up…"_

Michael sucked in a breath. "I'll wake up, Sara." He whispered to her. "I'll come back."

"_Wake UP, Michael. Please don't do this, please don't leave me, I know you can wake up. I love you."_

Feeling Westmoreland's eyes on him, he pressed a kiss to her forehead and stood up straight. "I want to come back, for her."

Charles Westmoreland nodded. "I know."

Next, he took Michael to see Lincoln and Sucre, making plans in one of the Company's offices, drawing out plans and making notes on how to retrieve Scylla. In their minds, they were thinking similar thoughts to Sara's : how Michael needed to come back to them, how they would be lost without their brother, without their friend…reliving memories that now held a bittersweet taste.

Michael and Sucre drilling a hole in Fox River, through the devil's horns and teeth…

_Michael and Lincoln on the beach in Panama…_

_Michael stealing cookies from a jar when he was five…_

_Michael welcoming him back into the cell after he had left…_

It all came down to one thing : he needed to go back.

He walked himself down to where Sara was sitting, only seconds after having discovered that the vision Westmoreland had into the room and took Sara into his arms…

"_Wake up, Michael."_

And then he did.

* * *

_So? What did you think? Pleaaase tell me? Pleaaase?_

_XO, as always_


End file.
